


Can You Handle the Truth?

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Slash, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you want, Castiel, the truth?” he practically yelled. He cringed using his full name, but he had to do it. It was the only way he would ever willingly say it.</p><p>“Yes, Dean.”</p><p>“No, Cas, it’s not a close-ended question,” he said, latching onto his wrist because goddamn he felt like he was drowning in a pool of his own pathetic mendacities, “Do you want the truth?”</p><p>And there it was, the million-dollar answer: “Yes, I want the truth.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Handle the Truth?

**Author's Note:**

> Destiel Canon AU: What if the "horn of truth" worked on Cas? Code to 6.06  
> A/N: Rated M because Dean doesn’t have a filter. Oh, yeah, and there’s a nice prelude to them doing…things “for reasons”. You have been warned.

"I've been asking you to be here for days, you dick!"

“I didn't come about Sam because I have nothing to offer about Sam. And I'm not the one pulling the vendetta, Dean, you're the dick. Sometimes I just wish—” Cas was grounding his molars into coffee. He had a hard time looking the hunter in the eyes. Dean, as usual, was the one at fault when he said he wanted the truth. It never occurred to him that his MIA best friend would actually show, of all days—and that he’d be struggling this much. “I—I just wish we could stow the contentions and be friends for once. And to think I was—I thought—”

Dean stepped forward, voice more permissive, “Cas, it’s okay, don’t get TMJ on account of me.” He laughed to lessen the tension hanging in the motel room like a loose fucking hangnail, and, like a loose fucking hangnail, he was about to experience a whole new level of pain. He knew because somehow Dean’s drink ended up in his hands.

What he didn’t expect was a confession that would forever alter the fate of their relationship as they know it.

“I thought you’d come to love me as much as I love you.” The eldest Winchester blinked as Cas drowned those words in the bottom of Dean’s glass. Mounting in his esophagus was the kind of heat that could only be brought on by intense dehydration—and blue-eyed nerd angels owning up to two years’ (who really fucking knows, millennia might be more fitting) worth of canned feelings. 

Dean would, of course, deny the accusations to a silver bullet, but he couldn’t deny the plethora of heedless flirtations and pseudo-offerings (“Bert and Ernie are gay/you are not going to die a virgin”). He and the cherub—Cas would smite him if he could read his thoughts because cherubs are “chubby, cloud-seeding mahatmas”—have been skating around each other for what felt like longer than the regression of Michael Jackson’s nose.

And who could blame him? Cas was loyal, kind, brave—and not to mention he can kick Dean’s ass any day of the week, which was the hottest thing next to the sun. The only other person who could take him was Lydia, and she was… well, she was superhuman, too, but not the kind that walked into a barn with a one-liner and a soon-to-be dead guy’s trenchcoat.

“I think you’ve had enough liquid courage,” he replied dumbly before mentally cursing. He tried not to mingle his fingers too long with Cas’s as he took the glass from him. Cas was too trained on the gonorrhea-infested carpet to notice. 

He swore upon the hands that turned him topside and pulled his brother into Hell that he was gonna smash this stupid horn. 

Cas shook his head because that’s all he could will himself to do. “Dean—”

“What do you want, Castiel, the truth?” he practically yelled. He cringed using his full name, but he had to do it. It was the only way he would ever willingly say it.

“Yes, Dean.”

“No, Cas, it’s not a close-ended question,” he said, latching onto his wrist because goddamn he felt like he was drowning in a pool of his own pathetic mendacities, “Do you want the truth?”

And there it was, the million-dollar answer: “Yes, I want the truth.”

“You’re the only thing I think about,” he sputtered like Baby’s engine when she was sunbaked, “all day, every day, it’s a never-ending marathon of Where’s Cas? I can’t even remember what sex feels like because I’m either worrying about your ass or thinking about where I’m gonna put it if you ever decided you wanted me because I want you, man, more than I’ve fucking wanted anything in this goddamn universe and it fucking kills me thinking that you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

He half-expected the angel to duck and run, even after he made his feelings clear—everyone always did. Then, before Dean could even conceive anything else to extinguish his testimony, Cas was saying, “Anything else?”

“And I really, really wanna kiss you.”

Castiel kissed like a blind man reading braille—experimentally touching and tasting the hunter’s lips without actually resting there—which Dean may or may not have been at fault for, introducing his tongue too early on. But God, if he didn’t taste like Heaven (he tried to avoid the cliché, he really did) for someone older than time. For a moment, all Dean was doing was basking the warmth and noises evading his inamorato’s mouth and the erratic pounding of his—or Jimmy’s—heart as he rounded first base.

Dean stilled his hands on his hips before he got lost in his thoughts. He had to remember that this was Cas’s first sex drive, meaning he was probably more terrified of popping a boner than anything he was taught in Catholic school. 

That in mind, he smiled into his mouth—this time slotting his tongue beneath his lower lip until he was granted entrance into the pearly gates. It didn’t take long for Cas to get the idea. When his hands found his hair, the hunter was letting out some pretty delicious sounds too because Cas, the son of a bitch, was grinding against him. His fingers dug so hard into Castiel’s titanium hipbones that he could have easily mistaken the throbbing for early on-set arthritis. Well, so much for taking it slow.

He wasted no time burying his mouth greedily into the underside of his jaw, branding the seraph with thick, red hickeys along the centerfold. Cas arched into his Righteous Man like a cat, causing his knee to bow just below his pelvis. Dean sighed into his skin, loving the authority he had over his vanilla vessel. Of course, with Cas’s leg inside his crotch, he was about to get more than his virgin soul bargained for…

And then he vanished. The bastard left him hard without so much as sayonara.

“Well it isn’t the horn of truth.”

Dean pivoted to meet the eyes of a dark blue Casanova (Casanova… he’d be sure to use that line more often). “What are you talking about; you were gone for like two seconds, where did you look?”

The angel just gaped at him like he’d lost his mind, “Everywhere.”

“So, what, you’re telling me I just made a-a Hallmark-worthy revelation out of the goodness of my heart?” he stammered, trying to placate his Ego Jr., “That nothing forced me to do it?”

“Yes.”

“And you knew?”

Humility colored Cas’s cheekbones. Dean couldn’t refrain pulling him into his lips once more. Virgin or not, he was going to atone for his sins—and the ones to follow.

-END-


End file.
